


Clear as Water, Full of Truth

by Nemonus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemonus/pseuds/Nemonus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phasma made a note of latent Force sensitivity on her own record.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear as Water, Full of Truth

FN-2187 kept his back to her, his skin slick with sweat and his shoulders flinching at attention, while he lied to her.  
  
She had wanted him so badly to succeed; strongest in his squad, smartest in his squad, FN-2187 had used his skills to become a crack in the foundation of the First Order. He would be patched, like the rest - he was officer material, but not dangerous or special enough for any other outcome.  
  
She watched him go, and felt the residue of the lie of his life like the smell of sweat. He would go to reconditioning, but it wouldn’t take. Soon, she would be making an example of him. Death would be the truth that finally took him and that truth —  
  
That truth would sink in and she would be able to feel it, like a planet felt bombs dropped from orbit.  
  
Phasma homed to truth.  
  
Not now, though. She wouldn’t hurt the trooper now. Maybe if they had still been in the hanger, if she hadn’t cornered him, she would have. Dragging his body into the hangar would not be formal enough - or give him that one more chance. Soon, the teeth of the trap had to close.  
  
When she was young she had some truth-sense too. She knew when her father was telling his clients the truth about their money, she knew when he was telling her the truth about his vicious, tedious work.  
  
She had skewed the truth once: she had made a servant tell Phasma’s mother that the young Phasma hadn’t been the one to take the company president’s silver ring. Then the servant was gone, and the ring was found floating in the waste disposal, close enough to dissolving in acidic muck that another servant’s fingers had burned fishing it out. The red skin had gone puffy and soft, like meat not quite cooked to the center.  
  
During reconditioning, the drugs would run through FN-2187’s blood up to his brain, and wipe the resistance away as she would wipe the Resistance away. Phasma had felt how troopers came out of the process new, clear as water, full of truth.

* * *

Ren knew. He said he _heard_ it.  
  
“Did you hear that?” They were standing on the bridge, but he spoke helmet-to-helmet, his voice quiet.  
  
“Nothing, sir.”  
  
Something in the air brought his head up, like a dog catching a scent. She couldn’t tell what had cued that attention, but something in his words rang true. If this was an interrogation, he would have just gotten his confession. “Ah, so it was you.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Not strong enough for the Jedi to take you, or maybe just not in the right place? I think … ” he said lightly, and maybe there was a sound now, or anyway a vibration against her ears.  
  
“Such a lucky weakling,” Ren said quietly.  
  
“I suggest rephrasing.”  
  
“You feel the Force only enough for the occasional miracle. Even the Empire might not have bothered with you as an Inquisitor.”  
  
“The Empire _bothered_ with my family and their businesses for years and did not need the Force for it.”  
  
The confession, Phasma thought, had revealed only that the prisoner had slipped through the cuffs hours ago.  
  
Eye-to-eye with her, Ren hunched in an effort to posture.  
  
The nonsound faded.  
  
She made a note of latent Force sensitivity on her own record.

* * *

The Hosnian system almost bowled her over.  
  
Hux’s fervor caught in her throat, swarmed up into her eyes until she was almost blind with his and her own wrath and triumph. On the bridge of the ship in orbit, farther than she could usually sense, Ren was scornful and rangy.  
  
Phasma let the waves of it roll through her, the _truth truth truth_ of the planets’ death, the gravitic loss, the snap back.

* * *

The Resistance on Takodana was cornered.  
  
Cornered things fought dirty.  
  
She had come down here raring to fight, ready to wade in like she had done on Jakku. The moment she saw him, though, she knew that FN-2187 deserved better - deserved worse - than that.  
  
FN-2199 was one of the last on the shuttle, swaying with his brothers. When she put her hand on his shoulder he jumped, flinched toward the green dappled shadows of the forest.  
  
“FN-2187 is out there,” she said. The white helmet bobbed only slightly. “Kill him.”  


* * *

Sound roared in her ears.  
  
The Wookiee had bruised her, she was sure; the armor could withstand blasts from anti-aircraft guns, but it didn’t matter if she was floored by something that tall.  
  
They had her backed against the console, her gun in FN-2187's hands. She could probably take two of them before she got it, shoot the Wookiee’s knees out, take hits from those fists on her armor. The bowcaster, though - that could send her across the room in pieces, and that, more than the swell of that sound in her ears, made Phasma pause.  
  
The sound told her to _wait, wait, revenge is slow, revenge is sweet_ , Ren _is out there_  
  
Something beat like her heart: _truth truth truth truth_ while her mind seethed. She looked into the old man’s eyes and thought she heard something familiar; some rhythm that beat like the growl in Ren’s mind.  
  
_It will hurt them more if I let them go._  
  
She lowered the shield.  
  
Phasma glared at FN-2187 while the Wookiee took her arm, and she had never hated waiting for something so much in her life, and the dark side told her _wait. Calm. Wait._


End file.
